


Sunflowers

by Anonymous



Category: Neon Genesis Evangelion
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Anxiety Disorder, Awkwardness, Bisexual Ikari Shinji, Depressed Ikari Shinji, Depression, F/F, Group Therapy, M/M, Recovery, Self-Harm, Slow Burn, Some Humor, Suicidal Thoughts, Therapy, no evas
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-30
Updated: 2021-02-08
Packaged: 2021-03-15 17:08:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Underage
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,612
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29067813
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: The story of twenty-three year old Shinji Ikari, who believes he'll never be anything more than 'nothing.' He has no hopes, no dreams, or ambitions. In this situation, a suicide attempt seems like such a valid and reasonable thing to turn to. But perhaps there's a small, tiny little bit of him wishing to recover.
Relationships: Ayanami Rei/Souryuu Asuka Langley, Ikari Shinji/Nagisa Kaworu
Comments: 4
Kudos: 43
Collections: anonymous





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Very self-indulgent. This is the first fic I've written in years so I'm hoping it won't come out too horribly. I don't have a beta reader so there may be a few spelling/grammatical errors. Feel free to point them out if you catch any, criticism is always appreciated. I plan to update at least once a week, but I make no promises. Oh and, be sure to heed the tags. Enjoy.

A tall woman stands in front of him. She lowers herself to match Shinji's height. "Is this your first time," she asks in a soothing tone. Shinji doesn't know how to respond, he never does. But rather awkwardly, he nods his head as an indicator that this was indeed his first time. Slowly, she begins to remove her shirt. Shinji lets out an embarrassingly loud noise as she softly lets herself on top of his body. 

Warm, soft. He's never felt the touch of such a graceful looking woman. "Um," he begins, "I don't think... I don't think I'm ready for this." Self consciously Shinji pulls himself away from the woman who now wears a blank expression on her face. His first attempt at getting laid landed in failure. The lady, who's now getting herself dressed again, is a prostitute he'd found through some website. At the age of twenty-three, most people living in America are expected to have lost their virginity... this of course, did not apply to Shinji.

"I'm sorry," he says again. The woman, however, pays him no mind as she packs her belongings leaving with a soft "goodbye." 

And that was the end of it. Shinji pulls out a small notepad which had a bunch of different scenarios written across it. He crosses off the one that says: attempt at a sexual interaction. He'd given himself a very limited amount of time to complete the following things he had listed. He was going to die soon, he'd lost whatever hope he'd once had in the past. It was better to give up now than to cling onto a pointless shard of hope. He had no friends, no potential. There was almost nothing he had that made him happy.

Shinji's therapist had one told him to stop putting up so many barriers; these walls which prevent him from fulfilling a happy and normal life. And honest to God, he really did want to be normal. He really did want to be happy. But he felt as if he was enveloped in an incredibly dark cloud which refused to let him go.

Shinji steps into the bathroom of his small apartment. He stares himself down in the mirror in front of him. It was funny, almost. That the person he saw now was not the same person he used to be fifteen years ago. Fifteen years ago he felt happy, things were enjoyable and there was never an unbearable amount of dread that would wash over him each waking minute of the day. Things were easy, never bad. This was before his mother had passed, she'd loved him dearly and the two never argued. For a short while he felt accepted and wanted by someone.

An inappropriate thought washes over him. He wonders, briefly, when his mother had done it. When she'd lost her virginity and how much she enjoyed it. She'd probably be ashamed of him. Still being a virgin at this age, not being able to consent to something so simple as touching; groping. Even the concept of hiring a prostitute seemed so pathetic. It really just meant that he was unlikable. So unlikable to the point where no woman would want to commit to establishing a sexual relationship with him. He was unwanted. But in a way, it was understandable. Only someone with very low standards would willingly settle with someone with a scrawny, self-harmed body having very little muscle build. 

In that moment, the only thing Shinji could think about was wanting to hurt himself. _My therapist would be disappointed if I did... If I do this now, I'll only be hindering my progress of recovery._ But then again, Shinji realizes that he's already made very little progress. A small relapse wouldn't disappoint anyone. Picking up his silver blade, he realizes that nothing will be the most he'll ever amount to.

Dr. Akagi's office is cold and smells of hand sanitizer and antiseptics. "So," she begins, "how have you been doing lately?" Shinji awkwardly plays with his fingers. The bandage he'd lazily applied to his forearm scrapes against the sleeve of his shirt. "I... I had a relapse the other day," he says blatantly. Akagi begins typing the information onto her laptop. "And what led you to do that," she questions. "It was an impulse decision," states Shinji. "It's... well, it's rather embarrassing but I made an attempt to get laid. I had it marked down as a possibility on my notepad. Little things I wish to experience before I die. And of course, things didn't go as planned. I felt awkward, it felt strange to be touched by a woman. I didn't know what to do in that situation, so I told her I wasn't ready. I felt like such a coward."

The room falls silent before Akagi speaks up again. "You need to develop better coping mechanisms. We've gone over this before, and a failure should not result in such an impulsive decision. You are causing yourself more harm than good." Shinji can only nod in agreement. He felt horrible for putting himself through such abuse. But it was hard not to fall into such unhealthy ways to cope when all you've done is fail all your life. 

"I want you to get rid of that blade, Shinji. It'll be hard to stop but it's the best decision you can make right now." Shinji can feel his face heating up out of embarrassment. He didn't want to get rid of the only thing which truly made him feel better. "Cutting is maladaptive, you know this." 

"I'll try," he says in such a soft voice it practically comes out as a whisper. "Good," is the response that's given to him in return. "Now, onto your medication, have you noticed any changes? Do you feel we need to increase the dosage? Give me your opinions." Even medication felt pointless, Shinji hadn't taken his in nearly a month. But like always, the natural thing to do is to lie. He lies stating his mood swings haven't felt as aggressive, that the thoughts of suicide rarely reach his mind. All is well apart from the occasional urges he gets to harm himself.

Their session ends with Dr. Akagi giving him a soft smile as she leads him out of the doorway. "I shall see you soon," she says. Shinji can't help but feel slightly disappointed in himself. He's letting her down, wasting her time. At this point, it'd be best for him to kill himself right away. He'd be doing those he knew a favor. But, for most things, he lacked courage. He was a coward. Thoughts could never be committed to actions. Shinji trails out of the building and into the tiny, old car that had been passed down to him by his father. Shinji briefly believes that miracles truly exist as his vehicle somehow roars to a start. After buckling himself in, he begins the miserable drive home.


	2. Chapter 2

Shinji gets onto the train, as he does every morning for work, with the feeling of dread weighing him down like a heavy blanket. It's crowded today, and there's a very limited amount of seating. After minutes of scanning, he spots a small space available. He trails over to it. Setting his satchel down, he pulls out an old book with yellowed paper and a decaying spine. It's one he'd found through a second hand store, bought it for a low price, so to him it was a steal. 

A lanky man, presumably in his early thirty's, takes a seat next to Shinji. The train jolts to a start, and the man drunkenly leans against Shinji's shoulder. _What luck I have,_ he thinks. In an attempt to ignore his situation, he pulls a bookmark out from the page he had last left off on. Shinji liked to read, fictional books always seemed interesting. There were some occasions where he'd place his feet into the character's shoes, imagining what it'd be like to experience what they do. Lots of different and exciting things happen to these characters, they'd live lives much more contently than Shinji ever would.

Halfway through the ride, Shinji sarcastically realizes how _truly_ _lucky_ he is when the passenger sitting next to him claims to feel ill. It doesn't take him long to realize the other is coming close to vomiting. Shinji begins to panic, no other seats were available and the car was too packed for him to stand. He can only brace himself as the man leans over to empty his gut. A soft splatter hits the ground, and, cringing, Shinji turns his head to the metal wall in an attempt avoid contact with the beige mess on the floor. _Gotta love the slice of variety life gives me,_ he thinks fiercely. 

Work goes about the same as usual. Shinji takes care of the paperwork sitting on his desk. He shreds papers, he smokes a cigarette during his break. He has a short conversation with one of his coworkers. It's Toji, asking whether he's found himself a girlfriend, again. And Shinji gives the same response he had given the last time he was asked. It's always "no." Shinji does not understand love. He has never been loved by anyone apart from his mother. But all she is now, is a faint, distant memory. 

Shinji wishes he were loved again.

Shinji takes the train home. It's quiet, holding only a few passengers this time. He fiddles with the shoulder strap of his satchel. It's beginning to fall apart. The leather pieces are beginning to weaken. He leans against the metal wall wishing the train would derail itself from the tracks. 

But of course, it doesn't. That wish is merely just a fantasy.

Shinji eats his dinner alone, as he does every night. His apartment is so still, so quiet. He can't tell whether he feels tranquil or lonely. He picks on the little grains of rice as he shoves a spoonful into his mouth. It tastes like nothing. 

The walls of his apartment are so _thin._ Occasionally, Shinji can hear faint laughter and conversations. A happy family, a content group of people living with one another. Shinji cannot bring himself to finish the rest of his meal. He leaves his plate on the table, discarded to be cleaned in the morning. 

Shinji's silver blade lays resting on his nightstand. It catches a small glimmer of moonlight seeping through his curtains. The small piece of metal so innocently sits on his dusted, old piece of furniture. Shinji does not think as he picks it up, twisting it around in his thin, pale fingers. He's had this one for a while, it's a good one.

In that moment, Shinji imagines having a close friend, one he can share plenty of good memories with. They'd laugh, they'd smile, they'd do all the good things close friends do with one another. But as most happy things are, this nothing more than a vivid imagination. 

With no trepidation; no hesitation, does he slide it against the skin of his forearm. He feels calm, relieved. As if his problems slip through the crevices of his now destroyed skin.

"I just can't stop," says Shinji as he sits irratably in Dr. Akagi's office. "I can't stop cutting," he clarifies. "I did it again the other day. I felt frustrated with my situation and I couldn't help it. The blade was just sitting there. It was _just there,_ at my convenience, when I needed it in that moment." Ritsuko Akagi says nothing as she takes this down in her notepad. Perhaps he truly is a lost case after all.

She states that she will increase his dosage of medication, that the rest is up to him. Shinji can sense the disappointment in the tone of her voice. 

"Is there anything else on your mind, Ikari?"

"No." But like always, that response is a lie.

"Shinji, you are in a state of isolation." Out of the stack of her paperwork, Dr. Akagi pulls out a colorful flyer. On it, the first few words read 'group therapy,' along with an address in a smaller print. Shinji knows what direction she's leading him in, and he doesn't want to go there. "Try this," she says softly. "Just _try._ " Shinji's hands brush against the colorful flyer as he takes her words into consideration. _Try._ "I think it's a good idea for you to meet other people who have the same issues as you. It's so that you understand you're not alone." Shinji can only manage a weak smile as he once again takes the idea into consideration.

Shinji goes through cigarettes like a baby goes through toys. He leans against a brick wall during his work break, with one dangling between his middle and index fingers. The door opens, it's Toji again. "Wow, Ikari, I thought you quit." Shinji can only shuffle his feet, as he doesn't know how to respond. "I guess not," says the other realizing a response would not be given to him. Shinji does not like the idea of helplessly _needing_ things, but he'd been needing a cigarette all morning long.

In an almost futile attempt to strike up a conversation, Toji asks Shinji if he has something planned for the weekend. Taking his final drag, and blowing out a steady cloud of smoke, Shinji wishes to respond with his usual 'no.' But he thinks of Akagi's words, and states that he has a gathering to attend Saturday evening. Toji does not ask for details, and Shinji is grateful of that. Minutes pass, and neither of them speak. But upon glancing at his wristwatch, Shinji excuses himself heading back to his office. 

The dreaded Saturday evening arrives, and Shinji can feel his palms drenched in a nervous sweat. He stands silently in front of a door leading to an auditorium. _I_ _am not ready for this,_ he thinks. _No, maybe I am. I should do this, I have to put in an effort if I wish to get better._ Shinji finds himself conflicted. He needed to make a decision, and soon. The meeting would come to a start within a few minutes, and a late arrival would only put himself out to seem irresponsible. In his chest, he could feel his heart beating at a rapid pace. _Calm down, all will be well,_ he tells himself. 

Just as he does so, a man his age with fluffy white hair brushes past him. "Excuse me," he says softly. 

_Oh gods, I've already fucked up just by standing here. I must look silly just doing so. I wonder what that guy will think of me - is he part of the therapy? No, he seemed too good for it. Ah, shit. Just go in already, stop wasting so much time._ Pushing past his nerves, Shinji somehow manages to get through the front door. There is a small circle of chairs assembled in front of a dimly lit stage. _Such a poor setup,_ Shinji thinks critically. 

A woman with purple hair - presumably ten years older than him - greets him with a friendly 'hello.' Her eyes are warm and bright, and he can imagine she must be in charge of this program. The others, the patients, sit quietly in the circle of chairs. There's three of them - a pale young girl with an abnormally thin frame, another with golden red hair, who sits impatiently, and the last one, the male he had seen at the entrance - they all look so strange. 

But Shinji knows he shouldn't be judgmental, as there is something also, so very wrong with him. 


End file.
